


A Question of Mary

by Winds of Dawn (WoD)



Series: Thinking of Mary [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Stream of Consciousness, post-s4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 08:02:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9984323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoD/pseuds/Winds%20of%20Dawn
Summary: Sherlock contemplates. Companion piece toA Final Problem, and a follow-up,Rosie's Turn





	

She smiles, and I see the smile of a dead woman.

Mary, sometimes she looks so much like you, it hurts.

She smiles. She reaches out to me, she says "da!"

I'm not "da," Rosie. John's "da." My name is Sherlock. Say Sherlock. sha-lock.

"Aaah!"

Oh, well. She's young. She'll learn.

"Aaa-'lo."

Oh. That's good, Watson. Very well done!

"Aaaah-baaah-waaaah."

Oh, Mary, how could anyone give this up? 

Yet you did. Twice. First when you ran from your former teammate, and then the second, final time.

Why? Was my life worth more than yours? If you believed that, you are not as smart as I thought you to be.

Not that I have any business throwing stones. I've thought my life worth less than... less. Worthless. Certainly worth less than John. Less then Rosie. Less than you, than Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade. Even Mycroft is more useful to society at large, much as I hate to admit. Well, there's Anderson. There's that. But the world is full of more worthy people than myself. Yes, there's my considerable intellect, but humanity is so much more than just mere intellect.

So why, Mary? Why give this up, your place besides John, your place with Rosie? Her first word. Her first step. First play date (must make arrangements with Billy). First day of school (ugh, is there anywhere remotely tolerable?). First boyfriend (not if I can help it). First chemistry set (maybe violin first? Mummy must have my child-sized violin stored somewhere. And how displeased will John be by the beginner's screeches? Must make sure to have her practice when he's home!)

Oh, Mary, you are missing so, so much.

So why run in the first place? I would have laid my life down to save yours, and yet...

You never trusted me. Or John, for that matter. Didn't trust us to keep you safe. Didn't trust us to forgive your past, or your necessary deceptions.

Maybe you were right, maybe we didn't know how to keep you safe. Maybe nobody on earth could keep you safe. But you never gave us the chance. Never gave me the chance. Always took matters into your own hands. 

Your hands. Holding the gun at me. Shooting me.

Your hands. Pushing me aside. Taking the fate meant for me, wrenching it away.

I would have given my life for you. And yet...

Yet you lay, heroic and dying, your life blood seeping through John's hands, taking what should have been mine. I should have been the ghost on the mantel, Daddy's queer, odd friend who died a long long time ago, it was all very sad. You should be here, nursing Rosie through her first fever, smiling at John as you hand him a patient's chart at the clinic. (Boring. John hates working at the clinic, even though he won't admit it.)

The life you and John were making for yourselves was never going to work, was it? Were all of us -- me included -- deluded in thinking it could? Pretending as hard as we could that it will all be fine? If one of us had had the courage to admit it, would things have turned out differently?

Would have, could have, should have.

I'm here, left holding the weight of everything you held dear, the weight of John's guilt in his eyes, the burden of a question Rosie will ask us one day...

Mummy.


End file.
